


Presently Gone

by PeachWord



Category: White Collar
Genre: Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Dark, Drug Use, Implied Drug Use, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-21 03:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2453408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachWord/pseuds/PeachWord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal can't remember much, but when he does, it all goes downhill. Fast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Slight AU; Neal wasn't kidnapped at the end of season 5.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been quiet all morning,” Peter said.

“Fine,” I answered. So what if I was quiet? I didn’t have to be loud all the time. I was thinking, nothing wrong with that.

Peter frowned. “It’s just…ever since Rebecca…I mean Rachel--”

“Drop it.” That was three months ago. I didn’t have a shred of a feeling for that wretched woman.

Peter did drop it, but he really wanted to know what was wrong with his friend. Something changed in him since that woman came into his life, even more so after she left it. At first he attributed his behavior to heartbreak; sad, weight loss, withdrawn. But then his behavior drifted into an unknown category, something that didn’t fit into the heartbreak hotel; he was deeply depressed, tired all the time, nervous.

Peter never knew Neal to be nervous, but there were these moments that he caught where Neal seemed to glance over his shoulder more than once, or take deep inhales and exhales to stop himself from panicking.

I kept tabs on him, checked his anklet…it didn’t appear he was doing anything wrong. It didn’t appear he was doing anything though. He was in his apartment most nights, correction, every night. I tried to coax him into talking about whatever was bothering him, hell, I owed it to him to try and be nice. I hated myself for being so hard on him last year…

Maybe he was upset the Justice Department was trying to keep him on his leash, that certainly would have made me upset. I told Neal I would do everything in my power to get him released. I even had a lawyer look into it. We were doing everything possible and things were looking good. Neal may have only a couple more months left of his sentence if things went as planned.

Peter glanced at his watch; it was 3 in the afternoon. It had been a boring day, no new cases. “Why don’t you go home, get some sleep? I’ll swing by later, we can have dinner if you want.”

****

I hailed a cab as quick as possible. I felt like crying; I didn’t know what was wrong with me but this overwhelming feeling of anxiety just washed over me.

I don’t know why or how I started feeling like this. It was like I woke up one day, three months ago, and everything changed inside me…but I didn’t know what. I didn’t know what was causing me to feel anxious all the time. 

When I got home, I realized I really hated this apartment and I didn’t know why. I just got this awful vibe every time I was in it.

I entered the bathroom and turned the shower on. I waited for it to get hot and then I realized I was wearing black sweatpants and a black hoodie…not the outfit I came home in. I don’t remember changing. It then felt like hours had passed after I first came home. I opened the door and glanced out the balcony, it was dark out. Now I felt confused, how could it be dark? It was only 3:30 when I got here.

I also can’t remember if I had this headache all day.

I glanced in the mirror. Dry blood was around my nostril. I peered closer; there was a scratch on my collar bone. I touched it and moved my fingers away like it was a plague. It was so sore.

I was almost hyperventilating as I unzipped the hoodie; a bruise on my chest was there.

No…no…please…not again....not again!

I took off the sweatshirt and turned my head…the old ones still hadn’t fully healed…and now there were fresh ones. How could this have happened? Again? How could I not remember how I got them? How could I not remember this time either?

The scratches were long and deep. Blood was smeared around them.

The walls were caving in around me and that hyperventilating I was trying to prevent was definitely happening now. I didn’t bother to turn the faucet off and ran to find my phone. He picked up on the second ring.

“I was just about to head over, just feeding Satchmo, what kind--”

“I need you to come over…now.” I could barely get the words out I was wheezing so hard.

“I’ll be right there.”

I slid to the floor and put my head in between my knees. I ignored the fire in my ribs and the burn in my back. I needed Peter to come and extinguish this mess.


	2. Chapter 2

20 minutes later he came running through the door. Panic was written all over his face as he searched the apartment with his eyes, finally landing on me in the corner by the bathroom. I heard him put his gun away as he kneeled next to me. “What’s wrong?”

I took a deep breath and looked up.

“Is that blood?” His voice shook with trepidation.

“I don’t know what's wrong with me…” I sobbed. It was an honest answer.

“Okay…did you fall? Hurt yourself?”

That was a logical question…the vase was broken in pieces on the floor, a chair was knocked upside down. I shook my head.

“Did someone do that to you?”

He was asking the right question, I wish I had the right answer. I couldn’t contain my panic anymore. “I don’t know! I can’t remember anything!” I grabbed my chest and forced myself to breathe.

“Shh…okay, okay,” Peter said. He was trying to keep my calm. I wished so badly for it to work.

I winced in obvious pain; the scratches on my back really stung against the fabric of the cotton I was wearing. I kept trying to think where they came from. I felt tears well up in my eyes. I never felt so scared before in my life.

“Is there someone else here?” he asked as he reached for his gun again. I shook my head. He didn’t take his hands off his weapon as he headed into the bathroom. After a minute, I heard the water turn off.

He knelt down again next to me. His eyes were kind, inviting. He didn’t touch me. Good. He was also being calm, doing nothing to upset me. Good. “Just tell me what you remember Neal.”

“I…I…” That wasn’t going to work. I couldn’t tell him anything if I didn’t remember anything. My hands reached for the zipper and I pulled down. The oversized sweatshirt fell off my shoulders. The cool October breeze from the window came and stung the open wounds even more. “My back…look…”

“Oh my god,” he said softly. I knew that tone, he was in shock. We were always good at staying on the same page.

“I don’t know how that happened Peter…I really don’t. I should remember something like that, right? I don’t understand.”

“Neal…there are older scratches here too…what is--”

“Please. I don’t know,” I cried.

“Okay.”

He stood up and took a few steps away. I think he was on the phone with someone. I was too dazed to know exactly though. Suddenly the door flew open.

I looked up briefly to see Mozzie looking very confused. Peter’s mouth was moving and he bent down to pick up a tea cup that I’m assuming was in his hands. The sound of glass breaking replayed over in my mind, over and over again.

I brought my hands to my ears to silence it. “Stop!” I screamed as I squeezed my ears tighter. “Stop!” The walls were caving in more. My stomach burned and churned. The fire inside was going to eat me alive.

Peter placed his hand on my shoulder, I know he was only trying to calm me, but this only made me feel worse. My pulse skyrocketed and my heart leaped down to my stomach. I pushed him away. “I can’t…breathe…”

The flashbacks hit me, one after the other. Now I know how I got those scratches.

They came through the window…from the balcony. They held me down. They laughed. I cried. I screamed. They broke the vase.

“Neal?” Peter asked.

I stood quickly; I put my hands up in defense. They took a step closer, I ran to the bathroom. Nothing came out of my stomach when I tried to vomit but the urge was so strong.

I heard the water turn on, Peter was standing next to me. I could just feel him looking at my scared back. He knelt down, once again, the damp towel touched my hot skin. “Neal…you’re really scaring me, buddy…”

I couldn’t stop crying now.

“SUIT.”

“What is it?!” Peter screamed. He glanced at Neal, he was in his own world. A deep scary world. He poked his head out of the bathroom. Mozzie was standing near the bedroom part of the studio.

Peter quickly made his way over there. Broken glass on the floor. Blankets thrown everywhere. The sheets had tears in them. Blood on the carpet. Blood on the sheets.”

“What happened?” Mozzie asked in a quiet voice. His body was shaking.

Peter shook his head. “Something bad.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,” the doctor said. “It’s an anxiety disorder, usually develops after a person is exposed to a traumatic event. They can experience flashbacks or, in extreme cases, avoid the memories all together.”

Peter took the pamphlet and put in his pocket. He ran his hands over his face. “But…is he okay? Physically?”

“Well he was assaulted, no question there. His injuries will heal Agent Burke, but mentally…he has to be careful which path he takes. I’ve seen patients take a left at the fork in the road and a right. I see you care for him, make sure he takes the right path.”

***

“Do you want to talk?”

“About what?”

Peter didn’t respond. He needed to word it carefully if he did. “About--”

“’I don’t remember anything.”

Peter nodded, even though he knew Neal was lying.

***

I wasn’t lying to Peter, even though he thought I was. I don’t think I was lying anyways. Something happened to me, I know that much. That’s why I’m in the hospital. My back hurts, like someone ripped the flesh off of it. Maybe I got hurt during a stakeout. Or maybe I fell in my apartment. I think I remember being there, and Peter was there and Mozzie. Mozzie was always there though, drinking my wine. I sure could use a glass right now.

They did these strange examinations on me while I was here. I don’t remember now which ones they did because they gave me valium, or maybe it was something stronger. Whatever it was, it made me calm and sleepy. I really liked that.

I went home a few days later. My apartment still gave me the damn chills. It looked the same, maybe a bit cleaner. I’m sure June sent some of the maids in here.

I lied down in my bed, I was exhausted mostly because I spent the previous hour convincing Peter I didn’t want to go to Brooklyn. I kind of regret it now because It was unbearably hot in here. I sat up and took my t-shirt off. My fingers grazed my collar bone and I felt that scratch. I’m still not entirely sure how it got there. Then I closed my eyes and saw someone standing over me, over my bed. Then I saw another person by the balcony door. They had masks on. I forced my eyes open, I was alone. No one was here.

My knees instinctively came up to my chest and I felt relieved when I breathed out a long exhale. I was so not tired anymore. I tried to watch television, I tried to read, I even tried to paint. I couldn’t concentrate on any of it. I felt anxious. I finally laid back down at 2 in the morning, but as soon as I closed my eyes those masked men would appear. Who the hell were they?!

By 3, one of my many bottles of wine was in my hand. By 4, I was asleep. The best part was that when I closed my eyes, I saw nothing but darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

I breezed through the case reports this morning. In this history of me working here, I actually couldn’t wait to get more. I needed something to do. There could be no time in between me doing something and nothing, otherwise I was going to think, analyze, depict. Those things were bad for me.

I was really fidgety today, but not anxious so that was good. I stared at the clock. It was 10 to 5. In 40 minutes I would have my lips pressed against a wine glass. In 120 minutes I would have my lips pressed against a wine bottle. It was the only thing that let me really relax these days.

Peter was gone for the week, visiting Elizabeth in D.C. Some people felt bad for him, that she lived so far away and that he accepted it. People thought he didn’t care. But I knew he did care. He cared so much about his other half that he was willing to let her live there, just so she could be happy. That’s what love is.

Love isn’t a beautiful redhead woman who manipulates your head so badly that you don’t know which way is up or down or right or left. It isn’t a face that haunts you in your dreams. It isn’t what I had with Rebecca…or Rachel that it is.

Maybe that’s why I was anxious lately. Maybe that’s why Peter kept trying to get me to talk. However that doesn’t explain why he put new locks on my balcony door or windows. I was convinced he was scared I was going to run. When I asked if that was reason, he said “absolutely not,” and “only you can open them from the inside, okay?”

I bet he was lying to me. Everyone else does.

***

“Hey Caffrey, how’s it going?” Jones asked, stopping in front of his desk.

“Good, and you?”

“Can’t complain. Been pretty boring this week, huh?”

He gave a small smile, “Yea.”

“Things will probably pick up next week, after Peter comes back. I noticed you didn’t take a lunch break today, you must be starving.”

No, he was thirsty.

“Wanna get out of here a little early? We can grab something to eat.”

Peter’s voice popped into Neal’s head. “ _Don’t take Neal on as your responsibility, Jones. You’ll regret it.”_ Neal knew Peter was angry when he said it, but it didn’t make it any less hurtful.

Where was he that day? With Hagen, decoding the codex, so he wouldn’t hurt _her._

He told Jones some excuse about having to walk June’s dog. He didn’t question him about it.

***

Not many people knew this about Jones, but he was actually a very good tail. But that’s the exact reason he was so good at it. He followed Neal, weaving in between people, staying 4 feet behind him, never being noticed.

He could have just looked at his tracking anklet, sure that would have fulfilled Peter's request to keep his eyes on the CI, but you couldn’t read a person’s body language electronically. At least not yet. The CIA would get that long before the FBI would anyways.

He was surprised to see Neal drink so many glasses of bourbon in one sitting, he seemed like such a light weight. He almost intervened when he heard him ask the bartender to get him another, that would be his sixth one in under two hours, but she cut him off and refused to serve him.

He followed Neal all the way home, again he almost intervened and revealed himself when Neal took the extra step off the curb, but the taxi thankfully sped right by him, the gust of wind almost knocked him down.

Jones got a bad feeling. But maybe this was a one time thing? He intended to find out.

***

When Neal woke up, he was lying face down in his bathroom. The taste of old bourbon and bitter acid stomach swirled in his mouth. He used the sink to lift himself off the cold tiles, stumbling, he finally grabbed a hold of the faucets and turned them on, splashing water onto his face to rid the drool stuck to his cheek.

He made his way to his kitchen, actually, that was as far as he got. He really wanted to go to his bed but his legs wouldn’t allow it. he glanced at the clock, it was 11 pm. Four hours of sleep wasn’t too bad.

The unknown number calling him caused his curiosity to pick up the phone.

“H’lo?”

“Hello Neal.” He almost dropped the phone. How could this be?

“What…how…”

“How did I call without the prison operator asking if you wanted to accept my call? I’m a skilled agent, my love, it wasn’t that hard to bypass it.”

“Don’t call me ever again.”

“Wait. I just wanted to know how you were feeling. “

“None of your damn business.”

“I can tell your upset. Maybe I’ll just call back later. I know you’ll be up.”

“And how would you know that?”

“If our positions were reversed, I’d have trouble sleeping too. Do you still look as pretty with those dark circles under your eyes? I bet you do.”

“I sleep fine! You think you know me but you don’t!”

“I know a lot actually. More than you.”

Neal hung up. She was right. She knew more than he did. That was also one of the reasons he hated Rebecca.

But what did she mean by that? Was she connected to those scratches? But how? She’s in prison. Did she…make someone else to do it? He stopped thinking about these questions with no answers when he realized he wasn’t breathing. He opened the balcony door in a panic and dropped to his knees. The cold wind hit him and knocked some air into him.

He placed his hand over his chest, his heart was racing, his body was shaking. He saw the bottle of vodka on the table and crawled. His fingers slipped around the cold glass and the tip reached his lips. He didn't even taste it when he swallowed. The images of someone grabbing at his neck, touching his hips disappeared from his mind. 

The liquid dripped down his chin, the cold air made it stick to his neck, giving him chills in a fantastic way, to him at least. He leaned against the wall, bottle in between his legs; he turned his head up, looking at the dark night. The stars were so bright, even if seemed a bit hazy now.

It was beautiful.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

I had a hard time accepting what Jones said, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t believe him. At first, I saw no apparent evidence that Neal was drinking, but Neal made a life long career of deception, so what I was looking for wouldn’t be easy to detect. It would be underneath layers.

So I looked, and soon enough I began to notice his red eyes, his runny nose, his withering frame, his increasing number of trips to the bathroom.

Maybe I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. What he was dealing with was anything but easy. So wasn’t there some wiggle room? Maybe he just wasn’t sleeping enough, eating enough, relaxing enough. Who’s to say I wouldn’t act the same way?

I couldn’t knock him for his performance at work, it was top notch as always.

But today Neal stumbled into work; he didn’t even try to act smooth about it either. His steps were jumbled and his coordination was anything but manageable.

I approached his desk and leaned over; I noticed the flinch, he couldn’t help it and my anger melted a smidge. “The hell is a matter with you, Neal?” I whispered.

He didn’t look at me, but I saw him. I could also smell him. Hugo Boss cologne mixed with whiskey and cigarette smoke.

When he failed to answer, I grabbed a hold of his arm and guided him to the men’s room. He didn’t protest. “I know you’re having a hard time, okay? But you can’t do this. I’m going to find the people who hurt you, I promise. “

I could see his mind working; the words were on the tips of his tongue. He only said one though. “Reb…Rebecca.”

“What about her, Neal?” I asked gently. Was he remembering?

Neal’s lips formed a straight line and I knew he wasn’t going to utter another word. That’s when I noticed the redness near his neck.

“Neal…what…what is that? Why is your neck red?” I asked as I reached for his collar. In less than two seconds he brought his hand up and slapped mine away. “Don’t,” he said firmly.

I brought my hand up again, slowly this time. “Let me see, please.”

His shoulder relaxed and I understood that to mean it was okay to go forward. I loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top of his shirt. His hand grasped the edge of the sink so hard they were red. The smell of whiskey was even stronger now that I was so close. It was now I realized how bad it had become for him.

The scratch on his collar bone was still there, it had faded a little since the last time I saw it, but the skin around it was freshly red and raw.

“I…tried to wash it off,” he slurred.

I placed my hand on his shoulder and nodded. “Fuck,” I simply whispered. I didn’t mean to say it aloud.

Tears spilled out of his eyes. “Yea, fuck.”

“Did you try and wash the ones off your back too?” I already knew the answer. “Go home Neal. Just go home. Please…don’t drink anymore.”

He nodded, but I knew he would anyways.

***

“Hello Agent Burke. You look a little tired. Something keeping you up at night?” She was smug, always was.

I smiled. “You know Rebecca, I never noticed, but orange really is a lovely color on you. I’m sure you’re looking forward to wearing it for many more years.” I could be smug too.

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”

“Stay away from Neal.”

She raised her brow, then she turned her head and looked around the beige interrogation room. “Maybe you forgot, but I’m in prison.”

“I know where you are, I put you here. I’m talking about the people you hired to hurt him.”

“You don’t--” 

I leaned in close and cut her off. “I know you’re mad you’re in here. I know you’re pissed you didn’t get away, and I also know you like to get revenge. Who better to seek revenge on than the man you blame for your incarceration.”

She smiled. That goddamn smile that probably made Neal fall in love with her the first time he saw it. “You’re right about all those things Agent Burke, right down to a T. However, I don’t blame Neal for putting me in here. I blame you.”

“Your little files, in that shitty apartment you once called a home, told me that you know a lot about me. So let me remind you of something, in case you forgot: my track record with the bureau indicates that I always kill my prey; now tell your wolves I'm hunting them.“


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating this story. I didn't know where to go with it. Thanks to Andrea for encouraging me to write another chapter!

“Pull Caffrey’’s tracking anklet from the past two months. I want to know where he was. Then I want any surveillance from any of the places he was at.”

“Boss, that could take a while,” Diana said, glancing at Jones.

Peter nodded. “I know, please, just do it. I’d consider it a personal favor.”

Jones nodded. “What are we looking for on the tapes?”

Peter sighed and ran his fingers over his face. “I don’t know, honestly. Someone hurt him though, it may just be one or it may be two or three. If we could just get an ID…it’s something, right?”

“Of course,” Diana said softly. She too noticed Neal’s increasing unusual behavior over the last few weeks and was concerned. Although she always kept a fine line between being too friendly with Neal, a soft spot had grown for him over the years. Although labeled a criminal, she came to hold Neal as a member of the team, as part of the family.

And she’d be damned if she sat by and let someone hurt her family.

***

Peter decided that three knocks was two more than needed, so he opened the door to his CI’s apartment.  A lone glass sat on the table. Empty. A caramel color stained the bottom. He knew that wasn’t old coca-cola in there.

He glanced at the garbage. It was overflowing with empty wine and scotch bottles.

What he saw next frightened him. Neal was lying on his bed, a small towel, which he was pretty sure was originally a white ivory color, was soaked in red and pressed against his nose.  

 “What...what happened?” he asked, rushing over. One hand was already touching his holster.

Neal’s eyes fluttered open lazily, “It’s the humidity.”

That’s when Peter saw the small plastic bag on the nightstand. It was mostly empty, but there was white dust in it. Drugs. This wasn’t just a drinking problem anymore. “No…no, Neal. Please.”

Neal stood up, swaying in the process. He straightened his posture as best he could. Fuck, why did he legs feel so loose and unstable?

“Look at me,” Peter said.

His eyes were so unbelievably glassy, so scarily unfocused.

 “You’re high,” Peter said firmly.

Neal squinted, as if he didn’t believe those words came out of his mouth.“You're crazy.”

“Really high. I thought you were just drinking…but--”

“You’re crazy,” Neal said again, turning towards the bathroom. He took one step before Peter grabbed his arm.

“Neal, no one is blaming you for what happened to you…but this is not how you deal with it.”

“Nothing happened to me.” Neal tried to shake out of his Peter’s grip, but he couldn't. Peter was too strong, he was too weak.

“Neal--”

“Leave.”

“As my CI, you’re in my custody. I don’t have to leave if I don’t want to.”

Neal laughed. “You’re really going to pull that card on me?”

“You’re out of control.”

“No, actually I’m in control.”

“I could put you back in prison, but I don’t want to.”

Anger seeped through Neal’s veins. “What the hell does that mean?”

“How about the fact that you’re bleeding through a towel? Or you drink alcohol like water? Or how about how you spend an unusual amount of time in the bathroom? That’s what the hell that means.”

Neal brought down his hand, towel in tow, blood ran freely down his nose now. He put both of his hand out. “Cuff me then.”

Peter sighed, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. “I’m trying to help you, dammit.”

Neal waved his hands, putting the emphasis on the fact that he was willing to go without a fight. “I’m trying to help you too. Cuff me. Let the state of New York have me as their problem. Looks like you’re sentence is up too, Agent Burke. No more babysitting. Let’s have a drink and celebrate.”

“I’m not going to cuff you.”

“Then leave.”

“No.” Peter grabbed his arm again. “Whatever it is you’re on, you’re getting off of it.”

“I’m not on anything!” Neal screamed as he pushed him back.

Peter could see him getting agitated. He grabbed both of his wrists.

“You want to fight?!” Neal yelled.

Peter decided to fight fire with fire. “Sure, we can fight. But you’re lighter than a paper weight. I’ll win.”

This set Neal over the edge. “Are you saying that I’m weak? That I deserved what happened to me?! Is that it!?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Yes it is! That’s what you meant!” Neal screamed as he pushed his body into Peter’s. Peter didn’t move, it was obvious Neal had no energy, which meant he had no force. Peter wrapped his arms around Neal tight.

“Shh….” Peter said as he firmly planted his feet on the ground.

Neal kept trying to push Peter. All of a sudden though, he started sobbing.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, but you can’t do this.” Peter guided Neal to his bed and placed him down gently. Within a few minutes, he was asleep.

***

When Neal woke up a few hours later, he was drenched in sweat. His mouth was disgustingly dry and every bone in his body ached. He reached for his bed stand. There should be a bottle. Or a glass at least. He could have sworn he left a drink there.

Nothing was there.

He reached into his draw. He felt nothing but cool, slick wood graze his fingers.

He sat up quickly and forced his eyes open.  

“It’s gone.” Mozzie said.

Neal looked up, startled. He saw Mozzie and Peter sitting on the couch. He thought he had dreamt his confrontation and breakdown with Peter, apparently he hadn’t. What lay on the coffee table was his stash. All of it. The wine, the vodka, the whiskey, the bourbon, the cocaine.

“Give it back,” Neal said calmly.

“‘No,” Peter said.

“I’m not kidding.”

“Neither are we,” Mozzie said.

Neal’s lips pursed together. “Finally caved, Moz? Scheming with a Suit are we?”

Mozzie didn’t respond.

Neal got out of bed, his feet swayed, again. “Just give me back my stuff.”

“You don’t even deny it, that this isn’t yours. You need help, Neal,” Peter said.

“I don’t need anything, get out of my house.”

“You are out of control.”

“And you want to put me back in control, right? So I fit in with your little house and your little wife and your little desk and your little car?”

Peter knew pleading with a man on the brink of withdrawal wasn’t going to get anyone anywhere. He did what he had to do. “Yes, Neal. Absolutely right.”

“Well I won’t do it,” Neal said as he stepped forward and grabbed the bag with white powder in it.

Peter grabbed his arm. “No.”

Neal gave him a hard stare. Peter met his eyes, but he was looking at a pair he had never seen before. They were wild and scary. Like he had rabies.

Mozzie grabbed the bag out of Neal’s hand.

“Mozzie. Give it to me.”

 “I can’t, mon frère.”

He knew what Mozzie was about to do. “No!” Neal shouted as he yanked himself out of Peter’s grip.

Peter grabbed his arm. By the time Neal pushed him off and he ran to the bathroom, he saw Mozzie’s hand leave the handle. The bag was now in his hand, empty.

Neal fell to his knees, his heart was beating fast and slow at the same time. His head was now pounding with ache. “Why would you do that?,” he whispered.

Peter gently grabbed his arm and guided him back to the living room. “You can either go rehab or we will help you detox.”

He looked past Peter’s face. For a moment it looked as if he were contemplating his answer; instead they strolled to the whiskey on the table.

Peter saw this and grabbed the bottle. “No, don’t do that, please!” Neal begged as he saw him head towards the kitchen sink.

Peter ignored him and poured it out.

Neal started breathing heavily. He raced towards Peter. He was centimeters from touching the glass. Peter put his hand up, shielding himself from the thrashes Neal was throwing at him.

Peter finally turned, empty bottle in hand. “It’s gone.”

“‘Why would you do that?!” Neal screamed as he grabbed the bottle and threw it, letting it shatter. He fell to the floor, sobs racking his body. "I need that!"

"You don't," Peter said gently.

Neal wiped his eyes, struggling to catch his breath. Anxiety was searing through him now, he knew exhaustion was soon to follow. He was going to pass out soon, he could feel the tiredness in his bones. "I do...I really do."


	7. Chapter 7

_“Don’t fucking move, it will hurt more if you do. I promise,” he whispered into my ear._

_“Stop,” I grunted into my pillow._

_“Hurry up,” one of the said._

_“I’m trying,” the one on top of me said. “He won’t quit moving around.”_

_That’s when I felt a second pair of hands hold down my thrashing legs._

_It was game over._

_And I lost._

The pounding in my head woke me, but I kept my eyes closed. Beads of sweat rolled down the side of my face, it was like an inferno underneath these covers. I’m sure the three layers of clothing I had on had something to do with it.

Yet, I’m freezing. My t-shirt, long sleeve flannel shirt, and hoodie? It’s not enough. Shivering while sweating. This is not fun.

My joints ache; straight up burn. I’m not even moving.  

I must have opened my eyes without realizing. Moz was sitting in a chair, next to my bed.  He was reading ‘Moby Dick’.

“Help me,” I whispered.

 “I am,” he answered, turning a page.

“I need a…need my…”

Mozzie looked up, stared at me and finally shook his head.

I sat up, throwing the damp covers off. A gust of cold wind seemed to flood the apartment now. “Please! Give it to me!” I yelled.

“No.”

“Peter!” I screamed.

“What?” Peter asked calmly, coming in from the kitchen area.

“Get me my stuff!” I screamed, I was out of the bed now.

“It’s gone.”

I knocked over the glass of water on the nightstand, I didn’t want that. “I don’t care. I want it now!”

“Get back into bed,” Peter said as he pushed me down as gently as possible.  “I know you feel like shit right now--”

“Just one drink, please, I just need one drink,” I said as tears crawled out of my eyes.

“I can’t give you that.”

“Please! I…I see it every time…every time I close my eyes…I see them. I don’t want to see them, Peter,” I sobbed pathetically.

He nodded. “I know. I know. Just lay down, you don’t have to go to sleep. Just relax.”

Mozzie took this as his cue to leave. He was never good at calming down a hysterical Neal.

I tossed and turned for a few minutes. It was still hot and cold. My body still hurt. I was so uncomfortable.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Peter asked after a few minutes.

I shook my head.

“You can though, if you want.”

“I don’t remember,” I lied

“Try.”

I didn't say anything. I looked away in fact. A few minutes passed, then I heard him pick up the newspaper on the floor, heard him turn the crackly pages.

“They wouldn’t stop,” I blurted out.       

I felt Peter tense immediately.

“They kept taking turns. One held me down, while the other….” I told him everything that I could. When I was done, I saw him clench his fists together. So much rage was in them, in him, I thought his head was going to pop off.

“Okay,” he said finally.

Silence came again. This time tears fell. They were hot and big, and fell smoothly down my cheeks. 

“It hurt,” I whispered as my eyes fluttered close.

“I know. No one is going to hurt you again Neal. I promise,” I heard him say before I lost my battle and fell into another sea of darkness.

Logic told me that was a lie, they would hurt me again, but my heart...my heart really wanted Peter's promise to be true. 


	8. Chapter 8

When I realized I was awake, I didn’t move. I stayed on my left side, my arm was asleep but I didn’t care. I stayed quiet, assessing who was here in my apartment with me. Peter’s snoring was nowhere to be detected…Mozzie’s usual foot tapping was inaudible. So, was I finally alone?

I waited a few more minutes. Only silence vibrated off my walls. I turned onto my back, slowly, like an animal waiting to attack its prey. One eye opened, just a bit. It roamed, calculating who and what was surrounding me.

I only breathed when I accepted I was alone.

Finally, they were gone.

I forced one foot in front of the other once I peeled myself out of the tangled web of sheets. The floorboard by the kitchen table creaked underneath my weight and I stopped in my tracks. I looked around cautiously, as if I were expecting those two to jump out of the cupboards. They didn’t. I was still alone.

My bones ached tremendously for some reason or another. They were stiff from inactivity, most likely. A thousand pound weight felt as if it were sitting on my brain, and then pushing it to the brims of my forehead. I needed Advil.

No I didn’t. I needed something that would send this slugger to the outfields. A bottle of Jack. That would constitute a homerun, wouldn’t it?

I kept Jack underneath the sink in the bathroom, behind the pipes. Jack was where I left him, no one found his hiding place. Right now, Jack was the only thing that understood me. Jack right now was my only friend.

Tears of joy or sweat ran down the side of my face as I attempted to twist off the cap. It would have been off sooner if not for the horrible trembling my fingers were engaged in.

“Stop it,” I commanded to them.

They did, and as calm as ever, they smoothly wrapped themselves around the gold cap. My wrist turned and _voila,_ it was off. Bitter musk engulfed the two inches of air between my nostril and the bottle.

Jack was teasing me. _Drink me, drink me._ I bet Alice never felt this giddy before tumbling down the rabbit hole to her wonderland.

The rim connected to my mouth and warm liquid filled it. It tasted like love, but better. It tasted like the love you felt for someone and they loved you back.

Then it didn’t taste like anything. It’s like when you say a word over and over again until you jumble your brain to the point where that word has no meaning. So now, dark warm liquid poured down my throat and I didn’t taste anything. That doesn't mean I stopped. I couldn’t breathe now but I didn’t care.

Somehow, I ended up back in the kitchen. I think the bottle came down and I came up for air. Not too long though. Finally, finally I slammed Jack on the counter, some splashed on the table. I frowned. That’s three drops that could be rummaging through my veins.  

I parked myself in a chair. The wood was hard underneath me, but hey, my headache was going away. Lesser of the two evils, I’ll take it.

I opened my laptop. I don’t know why but I googled ‘Roosevelt Island Bridge’. Look at the red paint. I closed my eyes and imaged gripping the cold steel, the bitter wind rushing through my hair, the water many, many feet below was choppy and murky green from the garbage resting in it.

I guess I blacked out after that, but when I came to, I was out on my balcony.  Actually I was standing on one of the chairs that I had out on the balcony and it was terribly close to the railing. Frosty November air whistled in my ear and the salt underneath my eyes had crusted over from the coldness.

The stars were out tonight. Silver diamonds resting against navy velvet, that’s what they looked liked.

Everything seemed a little blurry now, I’m on my way.

I could see through the haze though and in my hand was now an empty bottle. Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack was going to make me jump over these railing sticks.

My left leg weighed a ton, but I lifted it up. The arch of my tired foot was now comfortably resting on the railing. One more foot to go. Lean forward. That’s it.

“What are you waiting for?,” Peter asked me, calmly as ever.

I looked at him, even furrowing my brow in confusion. He did not seem the slightest bit alarmed, didn’t make any fast moves and grab my leg or my waist or my arm. There were no tears in his eyes, no anger…but there was something.

It was relief.

“C’mon,” he said with a small smile.

I nodded but remained still. I looked down at the street. It was strangely quiet.  Only one taxi cab driving through the street. I looked back at Peter, just one more time, I told myself.

That calm smile was still on his face. “Go ahead, Neal. Jump.”

******

"Dammit," Peter said under his breathe. The palm of his hand was resting on Neal's chest. He moved it in a steady rhythm, back and forth, back and forth. "Neal, wake up. Wake up!" He could feel his friend's heart beating fast. He should have brought him to a hospital. Who was he to think he could handle something as foreign as a detox?

"I don't want to...I don't want to..." Neal kept slurring. Sweat slicked his entire face, but Peter knew the drops leaking out of his closed eyes weren't sweat.

"Oh God, c'mon please, Neal," he whispered. He felt water building in his own eyes. He hated every damn second of this. 

Neal clenched his closed eyes even tighter.  He was shaking his head, repeatedly from side to side. "Don't make me...don't make me," he cried. 

Peter reached into his pocket. He had to call for help before Neal had a heart attack, or worse, died. 

Neal's eyes suddenly shot open. If Peter had to summarize with one word what they were filled with, it would be 'fear'. Neal grabbed Peter's arm, which was still on his chest, so hard that Peter dropped the phone in his other hand. It probably broke into tiny pieces but he didn't care. Neal opened his mouth, as he if were searching for words to scream, but nothing came out. Peter realized quickly he couldn't breathe. 

"Okay, okay," Peter whispered softly as he guided Neal onto his side. He clutched the sheets so hard his knuckles brimmed ghostly white. Peter sat down on the edge of the bed and rubbed his damp back in circular motions. Finally he felt Neal exhale. "Everything's okay..."

Neal quickly sat up. He didn't look at Peter, he just stared into space. His eyes seemed to be surveying everything around him at lightening speed. Peter wasn't sure what to do, he wasn't sure whether he should move or stay perfectly still. Finally, he turned to the nightstand and raised his hand. "Neal, do you want some wat--"

Peter didn't finish his question before Neal had taken both of his hands and wrapped them around his body. Peter didn't move, startled by the sudden strange and abrupt hug. He didn't say anything when Neal squeezed him hard, or when he started sobbing into his shirt, he simply put his arms around the younger man and hugged him back. He ran his hand over the back of Neal's sweaty head. 

"Don't make me...don't make me do it..." Neal cried.

Peter had no idea what he meant by that and continued to rub his head in a soothing manner. "I won't make you do anything, Neal."

Neal pulled back a bit and looked up at Peter, tears running down his face and all. "Promise?"

Peter swallowed the lump in his throat as he looked at those sad blue eyes in front of him. "I promise."

Neal blinked several times and then nodded slowly. "Okay." He let go of Peter and brought his knees to his chest. He put one arm around his knees and took a deep breathe. 

After a minute of stillness, Peter grabbed the glass of water on the nightstand and held it out. "Here, please just a little. I think you are very dehydrated. Neal took the glass and it shook in his hand, but he he brought it to his lips and swallowed a few gulps. Peter took the glass and set it back down on the stand. 

Peter sat down on the edge of the bed slowly, not wanting to make any sudden movements. Neal's breathing was evening out and he no longer looked so sweaty and pale. "Are you feeling a little better?" he asked quietly. 

Neal nodded slowly, keeping his gaze on the beige blanket covering his knees. 

Peter wasn't sure whether to ask or not, but he thought it might be good for Neal to talk about his nightmare, just get out as much bad from his soul as he could, let it dissipate in the air around him, not have it locked inside.

"What...what didn't you not want to do? What did you want me to promise to not make you do, I mean?" he finally asked. 

Neal didn't answer right away. He licked his chapped lips and played with the frayed thread coming loose in the blanket. After a a minute or so, he lifted his chin off his knee, looked a Peter and then looked straight ahead through the glass door in his bedroom. Peter turned his head and looked too, the balcony was as still as the painting hanging on the easel in the next room. 

Neal lifted his hand slightly, extended his finger and pointed. "Jump."

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for lack of updates. I have a few more chapters written though! So I will post more soon after this!

“J-jump?” I asked. I was so no prepared for that answer, but I suppose the expression on his face was congruently paired with it.

He nodded. “You, you told me to.”

I let out a big sigh and leaned back into the chair. “Jesus,” I muttered.

“I know. I’m a big burden. Why do you put up with me, Peter?”

“Burden?” I scoffed. “You think you are a burden to me, Neal?”

He nodded. “I do. I really, really do.”

“Look at me, please.” He obeyed. “Neal, I don’t have to sit here with you. I don’t have to throw out all your liquor. I don’t have to ask you how you are doing every morning at the office, but you know what? I do. I do all those things because you’re not just my CI. You’re my friend.”

He didn’t respond right away, but that’s because he was digesting my feast of words. “I … I heard what you said to Jones about me. I wasn’t supposed to hear it … how taking me on as a CI was something he would regret ….”

My cheeks burned red even though there was no mirror in front of me to confirm it. “Neal, I’m so sorry I said that, I was ang—”

“Angry,” he finished, nodding while looking at the floor.

We sat in silence for a few moments and it was bitterly uncomfortable. “How about something to eat? Some soup?” I asked.

He pulled the blanket over him and lied back down. “Please … just wake me up if I’m having a nightmare.”

***

“See that?” Diana asked, pointing to the screen.

I squinted, trying to see past the blurred black and white pixels.

“These three men followed Caffrey into the liquor store. Not a big deal. But look here,” she continued as she pulled up another video. “Four days later, the same men followed him into the supermarket on West End Ave. I’ve got six more surveillance videos like this. It’s always these three men. They’re our guys.”

“Who the hell are they?” I gritted through clenched teeth.

“I checked the surveillance videos inside these places to see if any of them made any purchases using a credit card. The one wearing the cowboy boots used one belonging to a Jim Boothe.

“Stolen?”

“That’s what I thought at first. You asked me to keep an eye on Rebecca’s activity in prison. In the past three months, every Sunday, a one Jim Boothe signs in to visit her.”

“Really?”

Diana nodded. “That’s right. If I stretch it, I might be able to get a warrant to check out his phone records.”

“I doubt a judge is going to sign off on that, but try anyways.”

***

One more field report and I’m done for the day, I thought as I grabbed the folder on my desk. I’ll check on Neal afterwards and hopefully get home to Elizabeth before 7.

It had been two weeks since Neal’s had a drink and I felt comfortable leaving him alone. Mozzie stayed with him last week, but we both knew he would have to left alone at some point.

I was just about to finish up when my cell rang. “Hey, Neal, I was just about to head over.”

“Peter.”

I stopped looking for my keys and my legs went numb for a second. I knew the tone of that voice. It wasn’t a good one. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer right away, another bad sign. Then I heard him sniffling. “I … I …”

“What’s wrong, Neal?”

“I’m in my apartment and I just have this really strong urge to drink right now and I’m afraid.”

“Did you take anything?”

“No, but I want to.”

“Just stay where you are, don’t move, okay? I’ll be right there.”

“Peter …” he paused. I waited for him to finish. He sounded as though he really wanted to say something important but couldn’t find the words.

“It’s okay, Neal. Just hang tight.”

“No … don’t come over.”

I was going to tell him to relax, that it would only take a few minutes until I was there and that this urge would pass. I didn’t though because he hung up.


	10. Chapter 10

“Neal, I’m here,” I said, walking through the door. He was sitting at the kitchen table, his back to me. A bottle of whiskey, unopened, was in the center. “Good, you didn’t drink--” I stopped mid sentence. Blood. I smelled blood. Fresh and wet and inches from me. That’s when he looked up and I saw the red smeared on his cheek, leaking from the cut on it.  “What… what happened?” 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Steady tears crept out of his eyes. “I told you not to come, Peter.”  

“That’s right, you did,” a man’s voice, which I did not recognize, said. “And that’s why you’re bleeding.”

I grabbed my gun and aimed it at whoever stood behind that wall. The man appeared, tall and slim, with what on his feet? Cowboy boots. A wide smile spread across Jim Boothe’s face. “What do you want?” I snapped.

“Well, first, I want you to put that gun down, Agent Burke.”

How the hell did he know my name? “Get down on the ground, now, Boothe.”

He laughed, and Neal shuddered.

Simultaneously, the bathroom and the hallway door opened. A man appeared behind each, both with shiny guns in their hands. I recognized their faces immediately. They were from those surveillance videos Diana showed me earlier. This was bad. Very, very bad.

“Please, Agent Burke, oblige me and put you weapon down,” Booth said. Neal shook his head slightly, but I did as told. Two guns was always more than one, and I didn’t have to be a mathematician to know that. “Good. Very good.”

His cowboy boots clicked towards us and the scent of Old Spice on him filtered the air. “What does Rebecca want?” I asked him.

He continued his way around the table until he was inches from me. His long fingers crept around the nape of Neal’s neck.

“Don’t fucking touch him,” I spit out.

There was a hard slap to my cheek after that. I stumbled into the counter behind me. “I’ll do what I want to him, Burke. And to answer your question, Rebecca wants to simply do to you as you have done to her.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We were quite disappointed to learn that diamond had slipped through her fingers. If Neal here wasn’t so foolishly loyal to you, she would be on the beach somewhere, sipping on pina coladas. Instead, she’s rotting in a jail cell. You must bear the consequences of that Agent Burke.”

I glanced at Neal. “Fine. Let him go then.”

He smiled and ran his fingers through Neal’s hair. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“If this is between her and I, there is no need to involve Neal. Let him go,” I said again, although this time unfortunately, it sounded like I was begging.

“Well, based on what Rebecca has told me, the only way to hurt you is to hurt him. So I’m afraid Neal’s participation is crucial. But don’t worry, it’s nothing he can’t handle.”

I didn’t really see the needle plunge into my neck until after he removed it. Then it went dark.


	11. Chapter 11

I tried to move my body, honest to god, but each limb felt as if it had been weighed down underneath cement stones. My eyelids opened, just for a brief second before they closed. What I saw was the ceiling of Neal’s apartment. I heard something too, in this weakened and very drugged state of mine. The noise was muffled, and kept going in and out as I faded in and out of consciousness.

“Stop … please …”

Neal. No. Was that sobbing I heard? Yes, but the distinct sounds of laughter were disgustingly mixed on top of it.

“Peter! Make them stop, please … please, make them stop!”

GET UP! I screamed in my head. Get off the floor and jam those bullets you have in your gun into those sick perverts’ heads.

I didn’t do that though. I just couldn’t.

***

The next time my eyes opened, I commanded my limbs to move and this time they did—slowly. I rolled onto my side and it took more energy out of me than I thought it would. I rolled onto my back and took in a deep breath. “Neal?” I called.

There was no answer. I forced myself to move again. With my eyes focused on the floor, I managed to drag myself to the bedroom. By the time my back leaned against the wall, the sweat poured into my eyes. When I wiped it away, I wasn’t prepared for what came next.

Neal was across from me, sitting and leaning against his bed frame, with his eyes wide open. He had a blank look on his face and it frightened me greatly. He had on a navy hoodie, zipped only halfway, revealing the bones daring to break from the thin layer of skin over it. His jeans were on too—okay, good sign. No one else appeared to be in the apartment. No furniture was knocked over. Everything seemed questionably still. Did I hallucinate? Yes. Neal was about to drink that bottle of whiskey but I snatched it from him and drank it myself. Just to see what the big deal about it was. That explained all this, right?

But the blood underneath his fingernails told me I was wrong.

“Neal,” I said.

He blinked and, oh, so calmly, looked at me. “What?”

The pounding in my head was goddamn strong, but I had to ignore it. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he whispered before focusing his attention back to his bare feet.

“Dammit,” I muttered as I tried to salvage any energy I had left in me. I attempted to bend my legs, maybe I could stand. No, they were too lazy for that right now. “Neal, please. I need you to get my cell. It’s on the table. Please get it and call for help.”

He looked back at me, he didn’t seem at all interested in doing that, but he nodded. He thought I was the one that needed help, but if it got him to that cell phone, I wouldn’t say anything.  I knew this drug would pass through my system in a few hours and I would be none the wiser—it was he who needed the help, and clearly … I couldn’t be the one to provide it.  

I possibly clenched my fists, though, I couldn’t really tell, when I saw him attempt to move and wince uncontrollably. He couldn’t stand, that was clear. He moved an inch to the left and then another before leaning back against the frame.

Tears glistened silently in his big, blue eyes. “It … it hurts too much to move,” he said.

I nodded and forced a small smile. “Okay, don’t worry about it.”

So I sat there, unable to do anything but watch as more blood covered the rug and the bottom of his jeans.


	12. Chapter 12

“Okay, mon frère, they didn’t have the baguettes you like so I got—what are you two doing on the floor?” Mozzie asked when he realized we were uncharacteristically sitting there like ducks.

“Mozzie … the phone, get me my phone,” I said. All feeling had returned to my extremities, but I still felt incredibly weak.

He glanced at me and then focused on Neal, trying to piece together what happened. The bruise had darkened on his cheek by now, and the blood on the rug had turned brown. He knew.

“Mozzie!” I snapped. “The phone.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat and receded towards the table. When he came back to us, my phone was put in my hand and that bottle of whiskey was placed next to Neal. He twisted off the cap and poured some into a glass. “Here, Neal,” he said, bringing the glass to his hand.

“Moz—”

“No, Suit,” he cut me off. He gave me a hard, glaring stare and I backed off. “No. Call whoever you need to call, but stay out of this.”

Neal’s hands were protectively around the tumbler. The whiskey inside it shook, as did his body.

“Its okay, Neal. I’m not judging you. Drink it, if you want to,” he said.

Neal didn’t drink it. Instead, he let go of it and it tumbled onto the floor. The caramel liquor dispersed over the brown blood, concealing the terror of what it represented.

***

“Don’t,” Neal said before I pressed the green key on my cell. I had to get an ambulance here, I had to get Diana and Jones here. Oh, god, he looked so … I don’t even know. It wasn’t sadness, it wasn’t anger. It was like … well, it was terror. Pure and simple terror.

“I have to,” I said. But I didn’t press down.

“Please …”

“Neal.”

“If they … if they come, they’ll know--”

“No one--”

“They’ll know,” he said in between anxious filled breaths, “they’ll know what happened and … and that you couldn’t stop them … you don’t want them to know that, do you?”

I know he didn’t say that to hurt me, I do, he was just trying to use any tool he had left on his belt to nail this coffin shut.

“I’m not hurt,” he said, this time his voice was a little firmer.

“We’ll go to Dr. Lanskey,” Mozzie said.

I didn’t even have to ask. I knew it was one of those docs that worked around the system … but, I needed evidence, because I was going to catch these monsters and I needed to make sure they stayed in there forever and ever.

***

Dr. Lanskey’s office was his apartment, all the way up in Harlem. It wasn’t a big place, and it wasn’t well lit either, but it had a sterile room with cotton swabs and rubbing alcohol.

Neal didn’t say a word during the car ride, and neither did I. Mozzie drove my Taurus, and I couldn’t give a damn he wasn’t adhering to the speed limit. He certainly didn’t adhere to any other laws.

Neal also didn’t say a word when Dr. Lanskey asked him if he wanted me to leave the examination/second bedroom. So I sat in the wooden chair, right next to him and held his hand. The sound of his paper gown being ruffled as it was lifted up sent shivers down my spine.

I couldn’t even imagine how Neal felt.

***

After I got check out briefly by Dr. Lanskey, and was told the drug had already passed through my system, and after he gave me a Whole Food shopping bag filled with the evidence I needed, I loaded Neal back up into my car.

“Say something,” I said after ten minutes of staring at him.

He looked at his hands and casually swiped them across his dining room table. There was no emotion in his face and it was then I knew he was on the diving board that stood over the deep end.

“Something,” he whispered.


	13. Chapter 13

She came in through the door, took her sweet time sitting down and even brushed the strays away from her face before picking up the phone. If I could reach through the glass partition and wipe that smug look off her face, I would have.

“Agent Burke, two visits in one month. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I really had to restrain myself. “Hello, Rebecca. How much time do you have left on you sentence?”

Her smile remained. “You already know the answer to that.”

“Yes,” I said with a nod, “I do. “How would you like to make that sentence shorter?”

“Right. You want to keep me shackled, just like Neal? I’m sorry, Agent Burke, I don’t like being kept as a pet.”

“No, no electronic anklet. I’m talking about commuting your sentence. You can be a free woman in as little as two days.”

Now her smile vanished. “What are you talking about?”

Got her. “I’m talking about putting your skills to use, not letting them rot away in a five by eight cell. The FBI is looking for this man,” I said, taking out a folder from my briefcase.

She stared at the photo I held against the glass. “Yuro Tefske.”

“That’s right. Alleged smuggler of art, cocaine, and women. He is highly sought after by various federal and international agencies.”

“So you think I know where he is?”

“No, but I think you have the skills to find him. I’ve requested a 48 hour furlough for you. I’ll give you all the resources, all the manpower, all the technology you need. If you can locate him and he is caught, then your sentence will be commuted.”

She laughed. “And I thought you were coming in here to talk about Neal.”

“Forget about Neal. I certainly have.”

She raised her brow. Now she was intrigued. “What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t matter. Are you in or not?”

She looked around the beige room and then at the cuffs around her wrists. “Oh, I’m in, Agent Burke.”

I smiled. “Good. You'll be processed out in a few minutes. I’ll be waiting outside. My car is the black BMW.”

***

“C’mon, Neal, please,” Mozzie said as he pushed forward the bowl of soup.

Neal didn’t touch it. “I don’t want it.”

Mozzie nodded and didn’t push any further. His cell phone beeped and he took it out of his pocket. “Shit.”

“What?” Neal asked, tiredly.

“N-no-nothing.”

Neal furrowed his brow. “Tell me.”

“I uh … my car got towed.”

“You don’t have a car.”

“I don’t tell you everything.”

Neal snatched the phone from the shorter man. He looked at the screen and his heart stopped. ‘Rebecca out of jail. Suit Burke made deal with her.’

“My informants aren’t always right,” Mozzie said quickly.

Neal stood up and the room moved. He stumbled backwards. Why, why would Peter do that!? He knew she was behind his attacks. He knew! He bumped into the wall but kept going. He was surprised he made it to the bathroom and he was even more surprised his empty stomach was able to vomit something.


End file.
